One Good Thing
by rebecca-in-blue
Summary: "Frank Bennett only ever gave me one good thing, an' I'm already takin' that." Two drabbles expanding on Ruth leaving Frank and her pregnancy. Idgie/Ruth fluff.


I've been meaning to write something for this fandom for a while. Thanks to the Rainbow Challenge at Caesar's Palace for finally prompting me to do it.

* * *

Ruth didn't say much as Idgie helped her pack her things to leave her husband. Idgie made sure not to let her carry anything heavy — Ruth had always been delicate, and now she was delicate and pregnant — and kept a close eye on her, but Ruth barely looked at her. Those warm, chocolate-brown eyes that Idgie had always loved stayed fixed on the floor.

Back home in Whistle Stop, Idigie used to loved to stare at Ruth's hands, especiallly when she was sewing or slicing vegetables in the kitchen. She thought it was like music, the way Ruth's quick, slender fingers darted around the flashing needle or Mama's silver cutting-knife, never once fumbling or losing their rhythm. But now, watching Ruth fold her organza dresses into a suitcase, her hands had a frailty to them that Idgie had never seen before. They were papery, with blue veins standing out on the porcelain skin, and all the music was gone from their movements. Idgie swallowed down a cold fear. What if Ruth never recovered from what Frank Bennett had put her through? What if she was never the same again?

Later, as Big George loaded her last suitcase into the trunk, Ruth paused before she climbed into the car. Her thin fingers slid Frank's wedding ring off her hand and dropped it in the dust at her feet. Idgie, standing just behind her, hesitated, then bent down and picked it up. The cut diamond glittered in the Alabama sun, looking too heavy for Ruth's hand.

"Leave it, Idgie," Ruth said flatly, when she turned and saw Idgie holding it.

"Well... I's just thinkin' we could pawn it," Idgie said uncertainly. "It'd fetch a lot of money, I bet, Ruth, if—"

Ruth raised her eyes and looked Idgie full in the face for the first time that day. "Leave it in the _dust_!" she said, almost screaming, and Idgie was so surprised that she took a step back. She couldn't remember Ruth ever raising her voice before. As she climbed into the car and sat down in the passenger seat, she added fiercely, "Frank Bennett gave me one good thing — _one,_ and I'm already takin' that." Her delicate hand rested for a moment over her belly, and Idgie understood that she was talking about the baby.

Idgie turned on the ignition, and as they started the drive back home to Whistle Stop, the heavy block of fear in her chest drew a bit lighter. Idgie had always been the tough one between them, the one who stood up to the boys at Eva's river club and anyone else who tried to bother them. Ruth was the opposite, gentle and soft-spoken, but now, Idgie smiled to think that there was a little bit of herself in Ruth.

* * *

Idgie's hands were rough and calloused, good at reeling in fishing lines, good at fist-fighting when things got too rough at the river club, good at swiping honey right out of the beehive without ever getting stung. But her strong hands trembled when Ruth asked her, "Don't you want to hold him, Idgie?"

Little Buddy was just a few hours old. He was red and wrinkled, the most perfect thing that Idgie had ever seen in her life, but he was also terrifyingly tiny and fragile. Idgie shook her head and backed away, feeling huge and clumsy. "I-I probably shouldn't, Ruth," she stammered. "I... he's too new, and I'll probably break him, or..."

"Oh, Idgie," Ruth cut her off, smiling that gentle smile. "Don't worry, it's easy. You know Buddy's been just waitin' to meet his Aunt Idgie."

During her pregnancy, Ruth had suggested that little Alice or Buddy would call her _Mama Idgie_ , but then came the morning sickness. Idgie had stayed by Ruth's side for every minute — holding her hair back while she threw up, wiping her face afterwards, massaging her swollen ankles — and she shook her head and said, "I just wouldn't feel right, Ruth, with the baby callin' me Mama when you're the one doin' all this work." So they decided she would be _Aunt Idgie_ instead. The baby kicked most often when Idgie was talking to Ruth, and Ruth said that it was anxious to meet her.

"Look, just make your arms like this, like mine are," Ruth instructed her now, "and keep one hand under his head." And all too soon, Ruth had transferred the baby over to Idgie. Idgie had never been so scared in her life, but she held him close, the way Ruth showed her, and Buddy fussed a little, then grew quiet. The world around Idgie suddenly grew quiet, too.

She felt a wet heat on her face, but she didn't realize that she was crying until Ruth gently wiped her face with a washcloth. Then Idgie laughed a little, embarrassed and surprised at herself, and blubbered, "Oh, Ruth... he's so beautiful."

The last time Idgie cried had been on that awful day Ruth married Frank Bennett, almost five years ago, and the last time before that was when her brother Buddy died, when she was just a girl. Ruth had always been the emotional one between them, the one who ran shrieking out of the room at the sight of a cockroach and cried at every sad song on the radio. But now, tears streaming down her cheeks as she smiled at their perfect new son, Idgie knew that there was a little of Ruth in her, too.


End file.
